Push
by Annalore
Summary: A collection of moments between Dolph and Cody before pay-per-views. Dolph/Cody. Pre-slash. Rated M for language.
1. Money In The Bank

Note: I wrote this after MITB. I originally wanted to make it longer, but I ran out of inspiration, so I decided to post it as is. I think it works, right? There might be more in this vein in the future, though.

* * *

The show has started. The kickoff match is already in progress on the other side of the curtain. As Nick walks past a bank of monitors on his way to the locker room, he almost misses Cody sitting in a folding chair against the wall, but he spots him at the last second and stops short.

Cody has only minutes until his entrance, so he's in his full ring gear, coat included. If he was this close to his cue, Nick would be hyping himself up, riding a wave of adrenaline and nerves, but Cody just looks tired, already worn out. He's staring at the monitors as if he doesn't even see them.

"Hey," Nick says. "Are you okay?"

Cody does not look okay, especially when he turns his head and Nick sees his dead eyes, tense jaw.

"I'm fine," Cody says regardless, his gruff tone clearly saying _Why are you even asking?_

Despite the complete lack of an invitation, Nick pulls over another chair and sits. He's always had a bit of a crush on Cody, if you could call it that, and he can't just let this go.

"Seriously, tell me," he insists, as if that would be the natural thing to do.

Cody looks at him. They've never really been friends, so Nick could understand him blowing this whole conversation off. But Cody sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't think this is going to go well."

He sounds completely convinced in a way that makes Nick nervous. Like it's not just about his storyline, but something else entirely. "Don't worry, man," he tells Cody. "You'll get a push out of this, too. You're golden."

Nick tries to smile, pass it off as gospel, but Cody shakes his head, denies those words so casually. "No, _you're_ golden. You have it all fucking laid out in front of you."

He can't help but snort. He's never heard anyone put his position in the company that way, it's all _sorry, man, that sucks_ and _you'll get it next time, for sure_ and so much hard work and hope only to get turned away again.

"I'm losing again. I _always _lose." It comes out more bitter and less tongue-in-cheek than he intended. He knows it's more complicated than that, but he's impatient, frustrated. He's gone exactly nowhere since his supposedly triumphant moment this time last year.

Cody shakes his head. "You gotta look at the long term," he says, leaning forward in his chair. "This crowd loves you, but we won't be in the northeast forever. You need to give everyone else a reason to cheer for you."

He knows it, and he _knows_ it, but mostly this start-stop gets him so angry, and it all just sounds so reasonable coming from Cody's mouth, it just makes so much sense right now.

He grins at Cody, probably looking like the complete idiot his babyface character is supposed to be. "You have the _best_ mind for this. It's shit, the way they treat you. Total, fucking shit."

"That's just life," Cody says with a grimace. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Cody leans back against the wall, the passion that had momentarily appeared in his eyes gone again. It hurts, it literally hurts Nick to see it.

"Geez. Say something about it. Complain. Be better, so much better that they have no choice." Nick feels himself rocking forward in his chair, getting aggressive. It hasn't worked out for him, but Cody's better. Cody has a pedigree. Fuck it, Cody's _tall_.

But Cody just shakes his head. "They always have a choice. You can make Vince millions and he'd still screw you in a heartbeat. I grew up in this business. Believe me, I know."

As Nick tries to let that bit of futility sink into his brain, a production assistant comes by with a five minute warning. Cody stands and Nick has the worst feeling all of a sudden. "But you're okay?" he asks.

"Perfect." Cody is already looking towards the ramp where guys are starting to line up. Sandow hovers a discreet distance away, letting Cody finish his conversation.

"Just don't—" Nick swallows hard. "Jesus, don't _hurt _yourself or anything."

Cody turns his head back and smiles, and it completely transforms him. He looks like such a young kid, not a hardened veteran. He doesn't answer, just shakes his head and walks over to join his partner. Nick feels the stupidity of what he just said – it's a ladder match after all – but he feels better, too. He forgets whatever he'd been about to do and settles in to watch the match.


	2. SummerSlam

Notes: I was struck with inspiration for this while watching Summerslam, so it might become a series. But they're more like linked one-shots, so I'll leave this marked as "complete."

* * *

It's hours before the show, but Nick is already a jittery mess. He's not sure if it's the product of three Starbucks runs and too many cups of bad catering coffee, or nerves. But as he looks across the catering area, everyone else seems calm, especially Cody.

If he's honest with himself, he's really only looking at Cody, with a glance here and there to disguise his true intentions. He just can't get over how young and fresh faced Cody looks without his mustache, how much better he looks in general than last month.

"So, what's going on there?" Punk asks from the seat next to him. He flicks a wad of straw wrapper at Nick.

Nick glances at him in annoyance, then looks back at Cody. He thinks he might heave if he has to watch Punk consume any more of his iced soy green tea latte. "Nothing," he says with a frown. "Like… literally nothing."

He hears the scrape of Punk's chair as he pulls it closer. "You have such a crush on him, it's adorable," Punk says, sotto voce, his voice startlingly close.

The feeling of Punk's breath tickling against his neck brings up uncomfortable memories that Nick tries not to dwell on. He throws an elbow back to shove Punk away, but Punk just laughs as he dodges it easily.

"Like you're not curious about John now," Nick says over his shoulder, irritably.

"Oh, fuck you," Punk answers, pulling away "I'm not curious about anything. I have a girlfriend."

They just sit there for a while, not looking at each other, Nick bouncing his leg erratically and Punk slurping at his drink on purpose. Nick finally looks back over at Cody, who's now engrossed in his phone –

"Seriously, you should just go for it," Punk says.

Nick turns to him, ready with another shot about John, but Punk looks so tired, so worn, that he doesn't have the heart. The part of him that's still attracted to Punk, that wishes they had been more, relents.

Before he can second guess himself, Nick pushes back from the table and stands up. Punk looks at him in surprise, like he hadn't really expected him to do anything, but then he nods and salutes Nick with his latte.

Nick is feeling a lot less confident by the time he makes it across the room to Cody's table. Suddenly, he can't stand the fact that Cody looks so calm, so put together.

"So, how do you see shit going down tonight, jackass?" he says, pulling out a chair and dropping himself into it.

Cody looks up at him and blinks slowly. "Do you _always _start a conversation that way?" he asks.

"Every single fucking time," Nick says, despite already feeling like an asshole. He crosses his arms over his chest defensively and rocks back in his chair.

"I know you can't be happy about how this is playing out for you," Cody says.

Nick grimaces. The last thing he wants is more sympathy. "But you told me it would be this way. And you know what? It's _fine_. I'm ecstatic. Over the fucking moon."

He stares moodily across the room and watches as John walks in with an entourage of production assistants. Punk joins him before so much as a minute has passed, and they slap each other on the back and laugh like they're bros. It's sickening.

He turns back to Cody, and he meets Cody's eyes unexpectedly. Cody is looking at him, smiling, even though he has no real reason to. Nick's breath catches in his throat and he clenches his hands into fists to stop himself from doing anything he'll regret.

"We'll be there one day," Cody says, and Nick looks instinctively back at John and Punk, who are now engaged in some type of play shoving match, and for a second, he thinks Cody knows something, but then he realizes that Cody is talking about their careers.

He watches John gesture at Punk, then walk away and leave the room. Leave Punk alone. "Yeah," he says hollowly, despite the fact that having that type of career is all he's ever dreamed about.

He turns back to Cody. "I didn't congratulate you," he says with an effort. He holds up a hand when he sees Cody about to protest. "I may be an over-caffeinated asshole right now, but I mean it. You deserve all the best."

Cody studies him for a long moment, but he is sincere, so there's nothing to find. And then Cody smiles again, and God is it ever beautiful. Nick wants to smile himself just seeing it, and maybe he does, a little.

"One day, it'll be you," Cody assures him earnestly. "And when that day comes… I'm going to spill hot coffee in your lap."

It feels so good to laugh that for a moment Nick doesn't even remember his shitty mood, his placement on the card, his constant worry that his career is going nowhere. All he can think about is being near the person that makes him happy and pursuing that dream.


	3. Night Of Champions

Note: If anyone's following The Winding Road here... I'm really sorry. I haven't been inspired at all. And I'm about 2 PPVs behind on this, I really didn't think I'd keep going, but I'm catching up slowly.

* * *

Nick has only been back in the locker room for a couple minutes when his phone rings. He doesn't recognize the number, but something makes him answer it anyway.

"So, you must really enjoy having your ass out on television," he hears by way of greeting. It's so unexpected that it takes him a moment to place the voice.

"Cody," he chokes out finally, no idea what else to say. Just saying his name fills Nick with a strange sort of panic, renews the numbness he's felt in his chest ever since he heard that Cody would be taking some time off.

"You were expecting someone else?" Cody asks, and Nick breathes a heaving sigh of relief.

"I wasn't expecting you, I didn't even think you had my number." Nick leans back in his chair, finally feels himself start to relax. "And what are you doing watching? Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I wanted to keep up," Cody says quietly. Nick imagines he can hear something behind those words, something that makes his breath catch in his throat. But it can't be real.

"That's some storyline they've got brewing for you," he observes. _Keep it simple. Keep it light, _he tells himself. _Don't think about Cody staring at your bare ass._

"I'm just grateful Dustin is getting the chance." There's a hint, just a hint, of frustration behind what seems like a genuine statement.

Cody is a better person than he is, Nick thinks, because he knows that frustration all too well. To be thrown into yet another tag team, when you want to be able to stand in your own light and cast no shadow. But then, Dustin is his brother. And if it was Ryan… Nick doesn't know what he wouldn't do.

"I'll just be glad when you're back," Nick hears himself saying. It's so stupid. It's not like they're friends or even talk much. He has no reason to say things like that.

There's silence on the other end of the line. As it stretches out, Nick starts feeling like he's about to have a panic attack, but there's no way to unsay the words. By the time finally does speak, Nick's nose has gone completely numb.

"I miss you too," Cody says, with a huff of air that sounds like a sigh.

It refuses to sink in. By the time he realizes what's happened, the call is long since over and Nick isn't sure if he's the one who hung up or not. He's just starting to smile to himself as the door bangs open and Punk walks into the room.

For the past couple weeks, Punk has carried his own personal dark cloud around with him. Tonight, it's been especially bad. He's been snapping at almost everyone around him, cold and vicious at turns. But now, he just seems drained.

"What did the trainers say?" Nick asks as Punk sets himself down gingerly on the edge of a chair.

Punk shrugs, then grimaces in pain. "No stitches, I just shouldn't wear any shirts I like a lot for a couple days." He sighs. "And they want me to go home. Come back next Monday."

There's a bitterness in Punk's voice that hurts to hear. If anyone needs the time, he does, and normally he wouldn't protest about it, either. But Nick has seen how Punk's relationship with Amy has broken down in the weeks since John left, how he's grown to hate being alone with his thoughts.

"You could fly down to Tampa," Nick suggests mildly.

Punk looks up sharply, then drops his face into his hands. "What were you smiling about when I got in here?" he asks after a minute, his voice muffled.

"It was…" He's about to say 'nothing' when Punk looks up at him again, something pleading in his eyes. "It was Cody," he admits finally, raising his phone, which he's still holding in a death grip, to indicate a call. He's smiling again, his stomach full of nervous butterflies.

"Good," Punk says with a nod. And Nick wonders, for real this time, how Cody got his number. If it was through Punk… he's grateful, grateful enough to leave it alone, like Punk would want.

"Stay with me tonight," he offers impulsively. "I'll drive you to the airport in the morning."

They're in Detroit. At this time of night, it's an easy four hour drive back to Chicago, and Punk has his tour bus to ride in. He can be home before the night is even half over, and accomplish it in comfort, to boot. Staying would mean a hotel mattress, lines at the airport, hassle, a couple hours on a plane down to Tampa. And John.

"Nothing's gonna happen," Punk mumbles, but he doesn't decline the offer. It gives Nick hope, not just for Punk, but for himself.


End file.
